


The Muddy Wake (The Mandalorian)

by The Corellian Pirate (Turhaya_Hundteth)



Series: The Extract Collection [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Baby Yoda - Freeform, Fanfiction, Inner Dialogue, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture, Mudhorn, Resol'nare, Self-Discovery, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turhaya_Hundteth/pseuds/The%20Corellian%20Pirate
Summary: The Mandalorian squelched his way past the body of the Mudhorn, carrying the egg under his arm. He collected his rifle and the kid (who was still passed out) and started the long, uncomfortable walk back to the Sandcrawler. In the short time since he had retrieved his blade from the beast’s carcass, many things had been buzzing through his already woozy head....A short creative writing extract from "Life Through a T-Shaped Lens: Din Djarin Character Study (The Mandalorian)"Language warning. Adult content.
Series: The Extract Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816246
Kudos: 11





	The Muddy Wake (The Mandalorian)

_Just a reflection, just a glimpse…_

_Just a little reminder of all the ‘what abouts’, and all the ‘might-have, could-have beens’._

_Another day, some other way, but not another reason to continue._

_And now you're one of us: The Wretched._

_The ‘hope and prays’? The better days? The ‘far aways’? Forget it._

_It didn't turn out the way you wanted it to… did it? Now you know this is what it feels like._

_The clouds will part and the sky cracks open, and god himself will reach his fucking arm through just to push you down. Just to hold you down. Stuck in this hole with the shit and the piss, and it's hard to believe it could come down to this - back at the beginning, sinking, spinning, and in the end we still pretend the time we spend, not knowing when you're finally free (and you could be) but it didn't turn out the way you wanted it to._

_It didn't turn out quite the way that you wanted it._

_Now, you know:_ _This is what it feels like._

_(You can try to stop it, but it keeps on coming)._  
  


_\- The Wretched (Nine Inch Nails)_

Everything hurt.

He was covered in mud, and it had worked its way in everywhere. _Everywhere_.

What a total fuck up that had been. 

The Mandalorian squelched his way past the body of the Mudhorn, carrying the egg under his arm. He collected his rifle and the kid (who was still passed out) and started the long, uncomfortable walk back to the Sandcrawler.

In the short time since he had retrieved his blade from the beast’s carcass, many things had been buzzing through his already woozy head.

By the gods, he was sore. Getting too old for this Rancor shit. He had to get back before shock from his injuries set in. Injuries which had been inflicted on top of what he incurred falling from that stupid Sandcrawler. It was a long walk back, and he had no com link to contact the Ugnaught.

He was tired. He hadn’t stopped to rest properly since… he couldn’t really remember…

Din had been so focused on moving forward, he hadn’t even stopped to think about all the bizarre stuff that had been happening lately. As a result, he’d taken on the Mudhorn while woefully unfit and unprepared.

For the first time in his life he had felt _certain_ he would die. Kneeling in the mud, he knew there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it. He had discovered in that moment he didn’t really _want_ to die.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been rash with his life, but this time was different. On other occasions he had saved himself from death, always with the notion that if he just fought _hard_ enough, he would survive. But he was getting older, and while he still had his skills, he was finding the hits were getting harder and more difficult to recover from. He’d have to start fighting _smarter._

Because if it wasn’t for the strange, 50-year-old baby, who apparently had _magical powers_ …

… he wouldn’t have survived at all.

The giant, muddy beast damaged his spirit in a way it hadn’t been able to do to his body. He couldn’t even look at it while it made its final charge, and he had lowered his head in anticipation of the crushing blow.

Din was mentally, physically and spiritually exhausted.

He started to feel his pains, and his hands started to shake slightly. Signs the adrenaline had finally left his body. He felt a cold, sweaty chill approaching. For a moment he thought he might fill the helmet with vomit. He’d better get his ass back with the egg while he was still standing.

As much as he wanted to just turn off his brain, he didn’t have that luxury. It was always times like this (in the aftermath) where critical thinking and reflection was needed to pick yourself back up and move forward again. His old lore master would have said it was an opportunity to grow and adapt.

Adaptability: the great evolutionary and survival tool. It wasn’t the strongest who survived. The Empire was proof that being the biggest beast on the planet didn’t necessarily ensure your continued existence. Those who adapted and changed were the ones who survived.

OK, Mando. Think. Get that half-alive, aging brain of yours to work… _Make_ _it work._

Resol’nare: recite them.

First action – education. He should’ve asked more questions of those rotten little Jawas before charging off to get the egg. He should have taken the time to prepare. Din was ignorant about the tiny bounty he was travelling with. The baby was in possession of powers which couldn’t be explained or ignored. He had absolutely no idea what manner of creature it was, why Imps wanted it, or what they planned it do with it. If he knew one thing, it’s not to trust Imps with _any_ source of power. He was dealing with the consequence of undervaluing knowledge and curiosity and had been embroiled in something larger than he had anticipated.

Second action – armour. His armour was a fucking mess. He let his temper get the better of him when he saw the Razor Crest stripped bare. Armour represents protection of self, but he’d been remarkably careless with his own life chasing down a moving Sandcrawler on foot. He’d barely recovered from the fall when he’d taken on the Mudhorn. What was the point of any of it, if he didn’t survive long enough to complete the mission?

Third action – self-defence. The old combat master would have called him a disgrace. He hadn’t used the environment to his advantage, or his weaponry. Why he didn’t go in with a disintegration charge loaded, he couldn’t say. Waiting on the ridge and luring the beast out for a clean hit would have been even smarter. What was he thinking hooking his line into the damn thing? Not once had be considered retreating to regroup. Adapt, Mando. Adapt. There won’t always be someone around to save you.

Fourth action – tribe. The Tribe was broke and badly needed the beskar, but handing in the foundling baby was going to be tough. Still, the Imps had specifically requested it alive, so there was a chance they would look after the thing. He doubted it, but it was the only hope he had. Was there a way he could save the kid without breaking the fourth tenant? He couldn’t think clearly enough to work out how. He’d have to come back to the idea later…

Fifth action – language. Mud was drying uncomfortably on his body, and he didn’t have a way to contact the Ugnaught and ask him to come and get him. He was so used to working alone, that he had not thought about communication. He had neglected to think of his ally, and in doing so, had undervalued him.

Sixth action – leader. His career. Bounty hunting had just turned sour. The pay was shit, Karga was a prick to negotiate a decent deal with, and there was no challenge in it anymore. But there was no way he was taking any of Karga’s under-the-table jobs ever again.

The first three tenents had shown him he had to work smarter. The last three tenents posed riddles he would have solve in order to move forward.

The Ugnaught was easy enough. He could pay him as thanks for his service, assuming the blurrg rider would accept a payment. But it was the notion of a continued ally which played on Din’s mind now. Maybe he should try and make a more permanent working arrangement?

Bounty hunting was a little more difficult, and Mando’s weren’t exactly cut out for day jobs, but he supposed there was work around the galaxy if you looked hard enough. He’d just have to think of options.

As for the kid… well, that wasn’t going to be solved overnight. The little foundling continued to sleep in his carrier, unaware of its dubious fate. It had saved him. Could he return the favour somehow?...

As he turned the thoughts over in his mind, he already felt better. The tenents had never failed to guide him before. Returning to the Resol’nare had given him greater clarity. Continued reflection would bring further insights.

The angular shape of the towering Sandcrawler started to slowly appear over the horizon. It made him think of a mountain, and he smiled. It is not _despite_ the erosion that the mountain stands – _it is because of it_.

The aggravation, the self-doubt, the worry, the exhaustion, and even the physical pain…

All fell in the Mando’s muddy wake in that moment.

**Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please hit the kudos button below to let me know.**


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